


At razor's edge

by SCM_ghostwriter



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Death, Drug Use, Multi, Original Character(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29023614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCM_ghostwriter/pseuds/SCM_ghostwriter
Summary: "The Edge... There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.” -Hunter S. Thompson, 'Hell's Angels'Damien thought it was going to be an easy job. He just had to return that pornstar called Angel Dust back to his boss Valentino, and live without worries for the rest of existance. But after the job goes awry, he will have to team up with his objective to survive hell and maybe understand more why Angel decided to leave his old life behind so boldly. (weekly updates every wednesday)
Kudos: 6





	1. One last job

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP, with chapters planned to be published weekly since the publication date. This is also a translated work (english is not my first language), so if you notice any mistake in use of language, grammar, etc., please notify me. Criticism is welcomed.

Damien was by now accustomed to the decay that existed in each cursed meter of hell, but he was genienly disturbed that so much of it existed in every square centimeter of that office. Not only was this room dozens of times bigger than any of other he had observed on his way there (and thousands of times bigger than any sane person needed), but in those square meters there was more malice, lust and sadism than the rest of the damn studio. He was completely surrounded by bloodied whips, collars and leashes made of the most expensive leather, all kinds of ownerless underwear, an ocean of strange sex toys, and enough drugs and ballistic weapons of all kinds to kill the entire population of the Vatican. It wasn't like he'd never seen such things before, it was hell after all , but seeing such a level of excess with his own eyes in one place was certainly new (and uncomfortable) for him, giving him a bad feeling about the job to come. He had heard infinite times about the mythical levels of hedonism of Valentino's studios, but he did not believe that they were seriously as gigantically morbid as he had been told and even more, according to what he had seen in the five minutes he had barely been there...

...Not to mention that the whole room was flooded in this rancid smell of cigarretes, lubricant and unmesurable lust that, with intense scarlet lights blinding him, the whole experience was so unbearable he was willing to die again (no matter how bloody the method of execution was) if so he could escape that stench.

In all the five minutes of waiting that he had been waiting, he had collected more and more reasons why he should not take such a job. Not only were the contacts that had landed him the job dubious at best, but it simply struck him as surprising that one of the overlords of hell had decided to hire a second-rate thug like him. Valentino had the second largest militia in the entire Pentagon (only surpassed by that of Lucifer himself), most of the members of it possessing great military training of the highest class, in addition to having more than enough weaponry to sustain them in constant battle until the apocalypse. So why did he want to hire someone like Damien, not to mention the huge pay they said he would receive? He didn't even know at this point what he was supposed to do or if it was worth accepting. But the fact that he had been allowed to enter the studios and pass to the overlord's office on the top floor, without any of the beastly guards that flooded the place moving even the most trivial muscle, was pretty clear evidence of the veracity of said mission.

His mind had been drowned in all sorts of theories as to what would happen when, with a sharp clang, the door behind him was thrown wide open. As expected, Damien instinctively turned his head, with a simultaneous surge of adrenaline shaking his body, and his eyes looked for the first time he who was supposed to be his boss. He could not say exactly how he imagined the leader of the largest pornographic studio in all of hell, but what he saw didn't surprise him too much: the demon was wearing a huge robe of the most expensive silk and cotton obtainable, dyed to the the color of fresh blood with a voluminous white neck with reddish spots in the shape of deformed hearts. He could barely see his grayish face, which together with his completely purple eyes without any sign of life, gave him an unusual resemblance to a bald corpse. Under the huge red top hat with a striped ribbon around it's lower half, decorated with a huge black and white feather of the same size as the hat. Valentino was wearing these heart-shaped glasses, framed in what appeared to be precious jewels, with polarized lenses that barely allowed to observe the sadism of its wearer, reflecting the exaggerated and threatening smile composed of sharp fangs that seemed to be permanently imprinted between his lips.

Walking with an air of superiority to anyone who was around him, Valentino went directly to the leather chair behind the huge oak table that separated him from Damien, without saying a word until he had positioned himself contorting his body on top of it. Not knowing what to do, the young thug remained static over the unbearable plastic chair in which he sat, hoping to make the best impression on the overlord, until Valentino began to speak:

-So, you are Damien Callahan, right? - He asked with a sidelong glance at the young man on the other side, his voice possesing a charismatic tone, although grave and clearly unstable that obvious the effect of all the cigarettes he smoked in every publicity photo that Damien saw everywhere.

-Yes sir. At your orders... - He replied with the most professional and serious tone that he could be capable of .

-I have been told good things about you, everyone says that you're efficient, quiet and serious when it comes to work- Valentino mentioned with noticeable interest, his two pairs of arms on the table and clearly lying with the intention of flattering is employee -and, best of all, you are basically the best kept secret of the crime world. Nobody knows who you are, you have a low profile that allows you to work without problem (not like those fucking IMPs)... So, tell me, what are you willing to do for this job?

"Well, to be honest, anything sir" Damien replied fluently without thinking it too much, not because it was true but because he knew that was exactly what all of his employers wanted to hear. After so many years on the job, you learn pretty quickly all the tricks and shortcuts there are, including that there is nothing worse than having any kind of moral objection (although this was hell, they were all criminals and deserved all the suffering that would come upon them).

-That's good... very good... well, here you go- Valentino said as he handed him a thick folder, full of loose papers of all sizes, conditions and contents that threatened to fall off with the slightest abruptness -this is all that you have to know about the objective. Bring it here in 48 hours and the money will be yours, but bring it intact. It is a very valuable asset for me so, if something happens to him, you will pay with your blood 'til the last fucking penny, you understand?

-Obviously sir, you can trust me...- Damien replied stiffly, looking somewhat concerned at the sudden anger embodied (albeit partially hidden) in Valentino's face when the demon mentioned that apparently important target. He had already begun to leaf through the document he had recieved, looking for any evidence however slight that might help him obtain his goal. But he hadn't even reached half of the documentwhen he found a picture of his objective, and immediately regretted recognizing it. That smug look with his different-colored eyes and sarcastic, sharp-toothed smile (with that gold tooth shining in all its pretentious glory). His volumious white fur with pink spots, those four thin arms covered in red leather gloves with which he seemed to speak with, as he did not stop moving them. The white pink-striped blazer that he used to enhance his fake fur bust, the black bowtie that along with a pair of high-heeled boots and tight black lycra shorts completed his wardrobe. And obviously, how could he put aside his notorious personality existing in the fine line between exaggerated eroticism and self-centeredness, always looking for a way to annoy anyone that had the misfortune to cross his path.

\- Shit, it had to be him... - was the only thing Damien was able to say whispering to himself, preventing his new boss from hearing him or noticing his concern, with a clear regret in his voice of not only knowing personally who the objective was, but that their destinies would meet again so boldly after the disaster that had been their first encounter.


	2. The night was young

It had been a typical freezing night in hell the first time their paths crossed. Damien, in what was already a tradition since he was alive, again ended another unhappy day in that seedy tavern, where he spent most of the night drinking cheap but toxic alcohol until he got drunk without losing enough motor skills and sanity to return to his filthy apartment just a block away. It was already around eleven P.M. when, having finally finished that last low-paying job he had to do for the rest of the week, he walked through the heavy metal doors that separated the bar and the degenerates inside it from the rest of hell, with the sole intention of making the best possible use of the little money he had been able to make in that unexpectedly slow week. Usually the miserable wages he earned were enough to accomplish his mission without being forced to sacrifice his poor, yet bearable way of life, but there were weeks (and even months) like that one in which the leftovers simply weren't enough and he had to accommodate to just being able to take less than it takes to drown even one of his countless sorrows.

As expected, the few square meters that made up the premises were already completely filled with all kinds of demons. Something he had noticed was that most of the regular customers were demons with the most animal attributes, deformed and inhuman, although it was no surprise that in that place so ruined and in bad taste only attracted the worst of worst. It was not as if he was fully human- with his hands, legs, back and the outside of his arms and neck covered almost entirely in rigid dark green scales, his eyes being hybrids between those of a lizard and a human, his shorthair having a reddish color that contrasted with the slightly greenish tone of its skin, the slender one meter long salamander tail that swayed between his legs and sharp, solid dark claws where its nails should be, although only a couple of centimeters long -, but most of those around him didn't appear to have belonged in life, even superficially, to the same species as him.

Usually you could see three classes of customers attending such a place, of more or less identical sizes (and with a large number of people belonging to several groups at the same time). The first group was the one where Damien unconsciously belonged, those unhappy bastards who came there to attempt suicide by alcohol or drugs, trying vainly to escape from the suffering with which he had to atone daily for his sins. The second group were those who came there to get rid of all their anger (usually for no reason other than the suffering they were entierly guilty for) at anyone who crossed paths, no matter what they had done to them, usually beating them barehanded until they were unrecognizable. And finally there were those who, making use of the public bathroom in deplorable conditions at the back of the premises, sought to have as much sex as their body allowed them or before the manager of the business took them out with a shotgun, their disgusting moans serving as soundtrack for the disgusting aura that sprouted every inch of the place.

Without much consideration, Damien proceeded to sit in an empty seat as far away from anyone as possible (although there wasn't much variety to choose from), a random metal table covered with several empty vodka bottles on top of a thick layer of filth whose origin he didn't wanted to know. He especially tried to get away from everyone who seemed to belong to the second group of clients, he no longer had any desire to have to deal with bastards who were trying to prevent him from being able to drink in peace until he forgot that he existed, even if that meant unconsciously ending up in the core from any of the other unbearable groups. He tried to relax during the brief minutes during which he waited for the waiter (the reanimated corpse of a tall man, whose rotting skin was covered in larvae and symptoms of leprosy, his skull completely ablaze but without any expression of pain or even inconvenience) to bring his beers. He tried to avoid thinking that if he didn't get any more employment in the days to come, he would end up living in the filthy overcrowded streets around him, but since it was inevitable in a place like this, his half-built inner peace didn't take long to crumble before he could do anything about it.

A thud, followed by a lightning-fast shudder across his spine and a thunderous high-pitched laugh, was what snapped Damien out of his trance and made him turn his sharp gaze in the direction where the noice appeared to come from. It turned out that the table he had chosen as a sanctuary was only a few steps from where the bathroom of the bar was located, from which that arachnid guy, that a little more than a month later he would be able to recognize in the photos of the archive that Valentino had given him, came out from. He looked almost identical to those future photos, but at that moment his gaze seemed as if he was drugged, drunk, or some lethal combination of the two, which was only confirmed by the fact that he had left the makeshift brothel barely being able to formulate a complete sentence and walk without almost falling face first to the ground below. Damien made a quick side-eye scan of him, not knowing what was about to happen would change both of their destinies for the rest of eternity, but apparently the high demon realized this and returned the look overflowing with lust that caused him to return his embarrassed look at the brown bottles in front of him.

He tried to continue with his drinking and rest, but it was too late for that when the intoxicated men pounced unannouncedon his table, laughing wildly with an uproarious laughter that showed that his mind was not one hundred percent present in the situation. Damien was forced to curl up in the uncomfortable rigid seat below him, moving as far away as possible from the problems the spider brought with him, begining to speak (or rather babble) words that Damien was barely able to decipher under the incredibly strong New York accent, his high-pitched (yet melodious) voice and his unstable state of mind:

-Hey... lizard boy... you are so fucking sexy today...

-Thank you -was all Damien replied dryly, trying at all costs to avoid making this conversation more awkward than it had started.

-Everyone calls me Angel Dust... but you... you can call me your little bitch... - continued the arachnid with a clear desire for sex, without noticing the disdain that these unwelcomed exaggerated advances generated for his counterpart.

-Can't you see I'm busy? -said the lizard boy with stress, increasing his voice to the limit of shouting, trying to make him notice in his cloudy state mind that he did not want anything that had to do with him.

-Oh, come on... let me suck ya dick... - was the last thing Angel Dust said before Damien shutted him up with a quick punch to the bottom of the stomach, storming off his seat with his beers in hand, too tired to continue dealing with someone as overtly stressful as that demon. Without waiting for any reaction, he decided to instinctively go on his way to his apartment tiny, in search of that peace he knew in the back of his head he would never reach, while Angel screamed his lungs out all the insults that he could to remember. But as much as he tried to forget that brief and unbearable encounter and that drugged homosexual in search of sex who called himself Angel Dust, there was something (a foreboding feeling perhaps) that kept this guy from disappearing completely from his subconscious.


	3. Showtime

If there was one thing Damien hated about his job, it was those moments in which he had nothing left to do except wait. It wasn't so much that he had nothing to do that bothered him, since he could do whatever he wanted without problem like at that moment, drinking non-stop, his back pressed against a filthy wall of the insufferably narrow alleyway where his target was to appear at any moment, only occasionally scanning it from end to end. It was more because of that uncertainty that came with any case, if everything would go as expected or he would be forced to end the day bloodied up, in pain and with no money in his pockets. Furthermore, the sheer magnitude of the case (along with that cryptic warnings from the overlord) only made the anxiety coursing through his mind increase at an increasingly dangerous speed.

As he always did, Damien had decided to use the first 24 hours he was given to define where the objetive was and what was the best way to proceed with his capture, but didn't take long to see that Angel was not exactly careful to keep a low profile (even if he had all the hitmen from hell after him). After having separated the folder of evidence between what worked for the case that which he could throw away, a large majority belonging to the second group, he noticed among the remaining invoices, photos and forced testimonies that his target had been going daily to a clandestine brothel on the southern edge of the city, always around 3 P.M. He couldn't find any evidence that could awnser why Angel went there day after day with almost military accuracy, but that in itself was not the important thing. The important thing now was to try to be as well prepared as possible, since he knew that if someone like Angel Dust was not worried about hiding any of his steps, it was because he was more than ready to fight until death.

The next step was obviously to get enough weapons. Damien was not one of those hitmen who always went around with thousands of guns, shooting at anything that moved for no reason; He had a pretty fervent faith that it didn't took many pistols, rifles, shotguns, and machine guns to do a good job (not to mention that it was easier to go unnoticed that way). But a hunch in the background of his subconscious made him feel that for that case he at least need more ammunition (no matter how much Valentino had repeated to "not damage his property"). That's why he he spent the rest of that awful day from filthy alleyway to disgusting alleyway, speaking to every suspicious trafficker that crossed his path and buying as many bullets as he felt necessary. It was late at night when, possessing enough bullets to ensure that everything would go according to plan, he was finally able to return to his miserable apartment and begin to wait for the showtime .

It didn't take long for him to go straight to the rigid monlith that served as his bed as soon as he returned to what he hated calling home, with its walls ruined by humidity, the filthy floor that supported everything, with only a closet about to collapse over itself and a garbage bin overflowing with takeout boxes serving as decoration. He was barely able to see any light through the dirty window that looked directly onto the street around him, with no life on them and making him feel like he was in a strangely calm post-apocalyptic world, but no matter how hard he tried he wasn't able to close his eyes in search of the most insignificant rest. He could hear as his deep breathing and rapid heartbeats echoed around him, as constant reminder of the agonizing passage of time making him suffer every second that passed. And not knowing what to do to fix it, he sat back just staring at his tasteless white ceiling as the hours inevitably passed until it was finally time.

That day has the hottest hell had in decades, or at least Damien felt like it was while burning time drinking the sodas he needed to not die of dehydration (he didnt got drunk on working days, but if all went as expected he could get drunk like never before in his life). Although it was beneficial it was so sunny, as it was the perfect excuse for him to use sunglasses, under which it could be barely seen the enormous dark circles that insomnia had given him, and not seem more suspicious than expected as he bought more drinks in the mediocre store around the corner. As expected, this neighborhood looked like a completely uninhabited war zone, bounded by long blocks of buildings of similar size and structure (with their walls completely covered with graffiti and grime that made it impossible to separate one from the other). There was barely two meters of sidewalk that crossed the neighborhood like an artery, overflowing with prostitutes and inhuman vagabonds begging for money, clearly becoming narrower the further one went until there was no escape, giving him an uncomfortable feeling that increased their desire to escape of such a garbage dump until finally Angel decided to appear.

Instinctively, Damien pulled out his antique phone with the screen broken into thousand crystals (which by a miracle still worked) and saw the time: 3:30 PM. Obviously he had to be late the worst possible day, but there was nothing he could do... he had to continue up until the end or declare bankruptcy the next morning. With a soda on one hand and pretending to talk to someone on the phone in the other, began to follow the arachnid without trying to call even the most trivial unwanted attention. Angel Dust walked with an air very similar to that of his pursuer, trying to go as unnoticed as possible (well, to the level that being the most famous porn star in hell allowed), wearing what appeared to be a leather jacket, with a hood hiding his face from the audience around. His step was firm and determined, his gaze fixed on the ground and with both pairs of hands wrapped perfectly in the tiny pockets that the jacket possessed, wearing the shorts and boots that he always seemed to wear. Damien had to admit that he was surprised by the mood Angel was in, he seemed to be a completely different person from the one he had met that night at the bar, much quieter, reserved and, in some strange way, genuine.

Angel Dust walked without stopping until he almost reached the end of the neighborhood, where Damien knew was the brothel he would surely enter. So, seeing that he finally had the perfect window to proceed with the capture, the lizard-boy accelerated his pace until be behind his target with his favorite shotgun in hand, dumping his half-finished soda on the ground and putting his phone back in his pocket. He placed his empty hand on Angel's neck and putted the gun in the center of his back (something a bit complex, since Angel was half a meter taller than Damien) and, before he could turn around and even react, Damien said without raising his voice, although with a level of seriousness as if his life depended on it:

-If you make any noise, you die, 'ya hear?

Damien already had the idea that surely the arachnid would toss him to the ground with all his strength, after which he would either escape (the best result possible) or would appear without notice with one Tommy Gun in each hand and soot him until it will be so deformed until losing all the little human appearance that remained (the worst, although most likely , of the results). So he was a little surprised that Angel instinctively turn around and, with a machine gun in each one of his four hands, simultaneously pointed them without firing Damien with a firmness that gave notice how willing he was to get out of there free, and said to his assailant in a calm voice, just loud enough to be heard:

\- And who the fuck are you?


	4. With a deafening shot

It should come as no surprise to anyone watching that scene that Damien was at an obvious disadvantage, but he was already too deep in the mission to give up before the first shot. In less than a single blink, the whole environment around him felt as heavy as all the sins in hell, and the burning heat worsened to the point where it was impossible for Damien to hold the shotgun without it slipping from his sweaty hands. It didn't take long for him to try with some success to regain the slightest composure, managing to rise with effort from the awkward position in which he had embarrassedly been, trying never to stop pointing the shotgun at his target. His paranoid gaze was stuck on Angel Dust's face, trying to find any sample that might show what was going through his mind during those tense moments, but what he found on that face that the arachnid apparently felt as stressed as his assailant.

That look, which up to that moment had always had this overflowing arrogance, now only seemed to show this deep consternation at something beyond that encounter, beyond its implications, beyond Damien's limited knowledge. You could feel the tension that flooded Angel's muscles, showing how eager he was to end that discomfort as quickly as possible, although in retrospect it was also quite clear that he had doubts about whether to press the trigger. The time around them seemed to be paused, without neither opponents deciding to take that step to violence that could only end that situation, voluminous drops of sweat dropping down their foreheads as they waited for the inevitable. Finally, after a few seconds they both felt as if they were actually centuries, the time bomb on which they stood exploded, without a single bullet having left thir respective cartridges of the five weapons they had.

The first thing they noticed was the echo, a monstrous explosion that seemed to come from Angel's back that bounced along the gaunt walls that limited the alleyway, deafening them for the brief millisecond it lived. Without specifically knowing what he was doing, Damien lunged at his target and knocked him down on the filthy ground just as Angel had done to him in a misguided attempt to avoid the bullet that was going hundreds of miles per hour towards him. He could only see for a few short frames who had the mission of annihilating them both, from a distance only seeing it as a vaguely human shadow, without any characteristic that could help him decipher who it could be, beyond the black raincoat and what appeared to be a modern gas mask on his face.

Neither of them had time to understand what was happening before another scream from the opposite side of the shot made them turn their gazes 180 degrees, their gaze falling on who had ended up indirectly sacrificing his life for them. They hadn't noticed it before, but just a few feet from them was a random homeless man- apparently an IMP due to his diminutive stature, scarlet skin, horns and unkempt white hair, wearing an intensely torn and stained suit -which surely had been there looking for drugs, money, sex, or all of the above. They wouldn't had paid much attention to him in the grand scheme of things, with the new hired murderer in the game, but what happened after the IMP's gravely scream of pain, on receiving the bullet which they had miraculously survived, drowned without warning made Damien feel the most genuine fear for the first time in centuries .

A huge blinding glow lit unannounced with such intensity that Damien and Angel were forced to squint to try to identify what that fiery orange light was, but once they identified it they regretted having done so. They saw how that IMP, which just a few seconds ago was simply living the misfortune he called life, was lit in flames less than a second after the impact of the bullet, his demonic flesh burning with such power that in a single blink there would be nothing but ashes. He let out a high-pitched scream as if the very fabric of his being was destroyed, seeing how progressively the skin gave way to the bubbling flesh and then the bones, until there was nothing left to burn and the fire vanished in a spiral of plasma in the air around him. The only sign that any living being had ever existed there, or at least as alive as one could be in hell, was a few remains of bone (mainly belonging to its skull and horns) and a stain of ash in the form of demonic footprints without an owner.

Damien's mind, watching this spectacle of impossible destruction unfold in front of his nose, simply stopped processing what he was seeing and let the panic (which had been building up in his subconscious over the years) finally break free from its chains and take full control. What was happening couldn't be real, there was no way that what he saw was true, that demon couldn't have just died out of nowhere. That is one of the tortures that come with being condemned, being able to suffer as much as possible in that lawless land overflowing with criminals with no imaginable escape, but there was no possible way in which his eyes could have lied to him now. He had just seen how a demon, an entity without any mortal body, being eliminated in the most abrupt and bloodthirsty way possible from existence, caused only by a tiny bullet. What the hell did that bullet have to have done something like that? It couldn't be, not even the radio demon could do that, not even Lucifer himself... but what then? What could do that? And how did that Mr. nobody get so much of it?

Without knowing why, Damien made a quick glance at his counterpart to see if perhaps he had also witnessed that, wishing with all his might that it was nothing more than a hallucination of his, but Angel's lost and confused look only confirmed that horrible fear that ended up freezing him up completely. He was in a trance, his brain deciding to freeze in the face of that crime against nature, from which it was forced to crawl out of its inhuman weight when his ears picked up again that same roar that had started that disaster. With his neck starting to feel sore, he looked back towards the stranger, who in the brief seconds that had passed since the initial shot was advancing with a determined stride in the direction of both of them, firing no matter which of the two he was mediocrely targeting, Angel and him only dodging the rain of bullets that had come down by millimeters.

Almost acting on autopilot, Damien forced himself off the ground as quickly as his short-circuited mind could, grabbed Angel Dust by his upper shoulders, and pulled him away from the firing range toward the wall at the other end of the alleyway. This seemed to have awakened Angel, whose gaze had acquired this brightness announcing how much he wanted to shoot that son of a bitch down, holding his fourth Tommy guns without that hesitation that had characterized him earlier. But on noticing this, Damien told him in a dry tone that didn't invited any kind of discussion:

-Don't even think about it, just get out of here...

After which, in a miraculous act, Angel followed the order of that stranger who had saved his life (and had previously tried to take it away) had given him, running in the direction of the only free exit left (from where they had entered that alleyway) while Damien followed him, from time to time firing his trusty shotgun at the bastard, but without much success in hurting him. It wasn't until they were several streets away from that imminent danger, which they had run through without problem thanks to the adrenaline overdose that crossed their bodies, Damien unconsciously following Angel, when they could finally take a breath and wonder what the fuck was going on.


	5. Run like hell

They must have gone through five or six blocks in just seconds when Damien was finally able to stop and breathe, feeling his heart finally having a rest from the brief overdrive it had been in. He didn't had the slightest idea in which part of the city he had ended up in, or if Angel Dust (and therefore his pay) had disappeared to never return, or if the shooter would be looking for them to finish his mission, but none of those anxieties invaded his head at that moment. In fact, he was so glad he had just survived that atrocity that he was on the brink of smiling for the first time in his entire sentence. But that ephemeral euphoria didn't take long to collapse over itself when he felt two heavy hands grasping his shoulders, digging their fingers with fervent anger over them, pushing him quickly towards the nearest wall and positioning the seething barrel of a Tommy gun under his chin in case the situation wasn't deadly enough yet:

-What… the… fuck… was that?! -were the words that accompanied Angel's violent push, without any excess of the blatant cynicism that was so essential part of his public image, with his gushing gaze showing the intense stress and confusion that flooded his mind. His voice, which usually sounded melodiously high and lustful, now possessed a seriousness and intensity that didn't seem able to come from someone like him, pausing at the end of each word to increase the intensity of the confrontation even more. His clothes and hair now disheveled, showing that Angel was wearing a black top made of lycra under his leather jacket, hyperventilating for the marathon he'd just run and with a trembling subconscious that made his hyperactive face go from fear, anger and shock in just seconds.

-Shit, I can barely understand how this started… -was the only thing Damien could say, barely catching his breath long enough to answer, not thinking his answer twice before it left his mouth, finally dropping that professional bully act that he had worked so hard to maintain. His voice left the seriousness that had characterized it up to that point and gave way to a more human voice, with confusion pouring out of each syllable, with a more genuine and high-pitched tone than the cheap Clint Eastwood imitation he used most of the time. But apparently that was not the answer that Angel's tired, panicked mind expected, since as soon as he managed to process Damien's words he pressed the barrel of one of his machine guns even more in his chin with the clear intention of blowing his head if he did not manage to give him the information he wanted, asking with even more anger and confusion:  
-The fuck you mean you don't know?! It wasn't until you fucking showed up that all this shit blew up! And what the fuck were you doing in the first place?!

-How do I explain it? Valentino hired me to bring you back to him… - Damien began to try to explain, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible to try to calm the guy who was a nervous tic away from emptying his skull . Although, as expected, Angel didn't reacted well to the mention of his former boss and his fragile state of mind almost ends up breaking after listening those words, deciding to ask one last thing that had the ability to either save or destroy him :

-Fucking shit! I should have known, and that motherfucker who shot me is coming with you?!

-That's the thing, he has nothing to do with me. I have no idea what he's doing after us and I don't want to stay here and find out -he answered the best he could, closing his eyes believing that surely upon hearing this the trigger would finally be pressed, but when the pain took longer than expected to appear Damien was forced to face reality again. Little by little, half-opening his eyelids, he could see how Angel had simply remained static trying to understand what that answer implied, seconds passing without something happening. Damien kept wondering what was happening, sweating profusely in fear for his life, without moving fearing that this could be what would end up condemning him, until Angel without warning lowered his gaze to the ground.

With a smooth movement Damien moved the weapon away from his face, but remained static waiting for something (anything) to happen, just when he began to hear a soft sound coming from Angel. Initially he didn't thought too much of this, until the sound began to increase in volume until he could identify that it was Angel laughing without notice of a joke that escaped Damien, laughing so violently that he soon ended without air and was forced to dryly stop.

-I can't believe it... - was the first thing Angel said after finally recovering- this has to be a fucking joke... Surely Val is behind all this... and is he also going to kill you or what, lizard boy?

-I don't know, but I don't want to take the risk- Damien said before finally leaving where Angel had cornered him, finally being able to try to breathe calmly since he had seen that stupid arachnid again - let's get out of here

-I don't care where you're going, but I will not return with Val- Angel mentioned, suddenly putting aside all the impudence that seemed to be a vital part of him, showing that he had so much conviction about not returning to his boss, no matter how much disaster he had to go through to achieve it. And without saying a word, he simply started walking toward the unknown future, trying to recapture the invisibility that Damien had taken from him in an act that had been catalyst for all the horrors that had appeared and were yet to come.

Not knowing where he was or would happen, Damien began to wonder about what was he supposed to do now, not even being able to understand what was happening: was Valentino behind all that happened? It was likely he had suddenly sent that superhuman shooter, in case Damien undoubtedly failed, to kill Angel (since, if he couldn't have it, no one would). It was to be expected, to be honest, it's hell after all and you can't trust anyone no matter how much you want, even if it still angered Damien this was the most believable awnser. He could try returning home, but surely the shadowy shooter would already be there and would kill him for having instinctively cooperated with the escape of the target. And if he couldn't go back to his 'home', there was no more place where he could go... and where would Angel go? Would he go somewhere safe, or would following him be like walking straight into the wolf's mouth? Could it be that the only solution to that dilemma was to follow the arachnid wherever he went?

-Where are you going? - Damien asked without thinking as he ran to catch up with Angel, who was already on the verge of disappearing into the infernal crowd some meters from the lonely space where they ended up in, with a genuine interest in the answer that he would give that gave him so much confidence that guy with the ability to literally kill demons couldn't reach him.

-Why do you care? -was what Angel expectedly answered him, with a notorious desire to completely forget the lizard boy who did not stop fucking up everything he was trying to do, speeding up a little more with each step he took before Damien continued to ruin his life even more.

-That guy is probably hunting us both- Damien began to argue, using every tactic available to try to convince Angel to just answer that trivial question, his mind going back into overdrive as he tried to make it clear that he was on his team, whether he wants it or not -I'm not going to betray you, surely that guy doesn't care whether or not I know where you are (I'm sure if i came across him with that intention, he would make me tell him and then he would kill me). Damn, that guy shot me like eight times while you were in a coma... just tell me, it's the least you owe me after i saved your life.

Angel clearly didn't like that idea at all, glaring at his new partner and letting out a sigh that spelled out everything he felt about it, but for whatever reason he quickly turned his head and, with a tone of resignation and anxiety in the face of Damien's continual interruptions, he finally said:

-I'm going to the hotel happy


	6. The long walk

Damien genuinely had no idea what kind of answer he was expecting when the question left his lips, but it was definitely not that one. It had barely been a couple of weeks since the princess of hell, her name was Charlie or something like that, had appeared on national television with the intention of exposingthis great project she had kept secret until that moment, and became the laughing stock of hell since then. Not a single day went by in which Damien didn't heared a joke on the subject, usually directed at the apparent naivety of the literal antichrist in believing that such a thing as salvation existed, which showed Damien how disconnected from reality was the royalty. She only needed to be one day out of her bubble to understand the simple amount of hedonistic depravity that every inhabitant of hell had, and also to see how most people had no interest in getting better which was somewhat sad, but also extremely realistic. In fact, most of them were glad to be in a place where what they did wasn't condemned in the least, the public image of Angel Dust being the perfect example of this kind of sinner no matter how much Charlie said he was a part of her rehabilitation project:

-so you believe in salvation? - was the first thing Damien asked, unable to think of a good reason why someone like Angel would seriously believe in such a thing. If it was obvious enough to him that redeption didn't exist, he was surprised that someone who had to deal with the most depraved of hell daily still had the slightest doubt about the falsehood of believing that one can go to heaven after having been condemned to eternal suffering.

-I've lived through so much shit that I no longer have a clue... Besides, it's a free room with food, so I don't have to go around sucking cocks for money- Angel answered, showing for a brief second the genuine doubt he had about whether What Charlie was paying him to do would actually do the trick, before catching this brief display of emotion and impromptu hiding it with clear fictitious disdain with the second part of the answer. While arguing, he had started walking again without waiting in a direction that only he could see, trying not to stop no matter how much the lizard boy tried to slow down, with his hands in his pockets and trying to speak at as low a volume as he could without being impossible to hear.

-Damn ... I never thought that someone like you wanted redemption ...- Damien mentioned, letting his mind speak without editing (probably because he was too exhausted of everything to avoid it), without any concern of what message his interlocutor might recieve.

-Why? Because i'm gay? -Angel Dust asked, with a certain disdain in his voice at Damien's apparent innuendo, glanzing at his partner in a look that managed to express the annoyance that he was beginning to have towards Damien.

-no… I didn't mean that… but is being gay a sin, or isn't it? -Damien replied trying to retract it from what he had said, stammering a little while improvising his answer before Angel decided he had had enough of him and left him to die in the middle of nowhere.

\- Do you think i'm the one ya should be askin'? -Angel answered with a tone that clearly begged Damien to be realistic, yielding more and more to the annoyance he felt towards the asshole who acompanied him.

-Well, sorry ... I'll shut up -Damien said before honoring his word and not uttering a sound for what must have been only about two minutes. But the awkward silence that enveloped them became so unbearable in such a short amount of time, that Damien was moved to ask without warning and with some weariness, looking for anything to annihilate that horrible feeling- and how far is that hotel?

-Not much, just an hour or two of walking...

-Is it really that far?

-If it is so boring for you to walk, go away, will ya? -Angel answered giving more vent to his anger, already on the verge of regretting having tried to do that good that Charlie talked so much about

-only it seems odd that you decide to walk two hours back and forth daily -again replied Damien, trying not to lose the only chance of salvation I hadand to sound as pleasant as he could in those few words -Why are you coming here anyway?

-for some things that Charlie needs me to bring her... but thanks to ya I'll have to get them somewhere else -said Angel, trying unsuccessfully to remain calm in the face of the realization that he would have to suddenlychange his route so that he could finally finish that for which had gone for weeks without end to that war zone.

-but you can get sex in every corner of the pentagram- Damien mentioned cheekily, making it quite obvious that he knew where Angel went there every day, no matter how long he had supposedly been in "rehab", with his voice climbing in volume trying to emphasize the middle of the sentence.

-That's really funny- the arachnid remarked sarcastically, followed by a brief laugh clearly exaggerated with a latent anger badly hidden underneath it -that was just the place where I was supposed to meet the guy who had the merchandise...

-Sure, you 're the prostitute, not me- answered the lizard boy, but now without intention to hide his true beliefs, noticing that they surely weren't not going towards the happy hotel but to any other whorehouse in which they were gonna die gunned down by the end of the day.

-Like you were the saint, you are in hell with all of us, fucker -said Angel, giving vent to the annoyance caused by this guy who now only wanted to kill with his fists.

-Yes, but I don't claim to be morally above the others saying that I will be able to enter heaven, right? - Damien answered at the height of his anger, raising his voice to the point that everyone around him in a two meters radius turned their gaze uncomfortably at the two of them, not knowing exactly what they were seeing.

-It's not that... I'm just looking for somethin' different -Angel finished with an unexpected calm, after having realized the unnecessary attention that Damien's voice had brought them, almost resorting to whispering to him while staring at him, begging him to shut up.

-and why's that? You have more than any unhappy sinner like me could ever want -Damien continued asking with less volume, but with even greater interest in knowing his answer. Angel could burn money without a problem (Valentino always had more money to give him) and have all the sex and drugs in the world without anyone stopping him. That was more than a bastard like him could wish for, so why did he want to just leave all that behind?

-Believe me, it is more difficult than what the publicity shows -Angel concluded, clearly making the sudden decision not to give any argument to support that brief, albeit cutting argument. In retrospect he seemed to be terrified of saying something he shouldn't, show a side of him that he would regret, let the world see that behind the fur and the four arms and legs there was still a person, with all his hopes, desires, fears and vulnerabilities, so the world would know where to hit him to make him bleed.

Not knowing what to say about it, they both fell silent in a bilateral agreement of quiet reflection as they hurriedly continued walking without apparent destination, but it didn't take long for this agreement to be broken when a bestial outburst tore the dense calm air around them, a shot that they didn't took too long to identify. When the echo of the shot reached them, Damien could see how the look melancholy of Angel was revitalized by the imminent danger that noise meant and, with much more determination but still with some notable panic, stared at him and said, as he clutched of Damien's thin arm and pushed him toward an uncertain fate:

-Shit, follow me..


	7. Hiatus announcement

Hi, i'm quite sorry to inform you that i'm obligated to take a bit of a break from writing 'At razor's edge'. It's not that i'm tired of the story, I still like the characters and the plot too much to let it die, but the thing is that my life is so full of stuff right now (mainly from graduating high school and entering college) that i simply don't have the time right now to create weekly chapters. I'm gonna return to publishing weekly since the first wednesday of april (the 7 of that month) so stay tuned for that. I wanted to also use this opportunity to express my gratitude for all that have read the fanfic until now, i'll try my best to not dissapoint you after i come back to the proyect (if you're still here after that).

Thanks for everything and see you soon!

-SCM


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